


Plant Lavender for Luck

by PhoenixTalon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, Swanfire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1868247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTalon/pseuds/PhoenixTalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Practical Magic AU.  Belle and Emma Owens are two witch sisters under a curse—that any many they love is doomed to die.  A Rumbelle & Swanfire story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amas Veritas

On a cold, October day, two young girls with clasped hands warily eyed a three story Victorian house. 

An ominous breeze blew, scattering dead leaves around them, and the brunette shivered in agitation. “I don’t like it,” She whispered. 

The blonde girl squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, Belle,” She winked at her sister. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Belle squinted her eyes shut, trying to imagine home. Before here, they’d lived on a warm beach, the sun shining every day. She visualized her family laughing on the beach, splashing each other with salty water, her mother’s face bright and happy. 

“I miss mommy,” She whimpered. “And daddy. Emma, can’t we go home?”

“This is our home now,” Emma said confidently. “It’ll be all right. I promise. We’ll always be together. That’s what sisters are for.” 

“Half-sisters,” Belle said glumly, eyeing Emma’s pretty golden curls enviously. She’d always wished she was as beautiful and strong as Emma.

Emma frowned. “Sisters,” She insisted. “We’re blood, no matter what. Don’t talk like that, Belly-button.” 

The doors of the Victorian house opened and two older women fluttered out, clucking sympathetically. The first wore a green sparkling dress that brought to mind a shiny beetle—she looked a bit like Emma with her blonde hair and blue-gray eyes, though there was more mischief in her gaze. 

The second wore darker clothes. She was also blonde, but her beautiful face was sharply angled and she spoke in honeyed tones. 

“Poor little dears,” She crooned, gathering an uncomfortable Emma and Belle into her arms. “In this house,” Her voice was stern. “We have chocolate cake for breakfast.”

Emma let out a surprised shriek of a giggle and the aunts looked pleased. 

“Poor motherless darlings,” The lady in green sighed, hugging them to her chest. “You just call me Tink, all right? And if there’s anything you need—”

“Her real name,” The one in black confided. “Is Theodora.” 

Aunt Tink scowled. “As I was saying you can call for Tink or your Aunt Malinda.” 

Aunt Malinda made a hideous face. “Please. Girls, just call me Aunt Mal.” 

Belle felt something soft rub up against her bare legs and gasped to see a purring kitten, the color of coal, at her feet. She reached down to pick him up, burying her face in his fur. 

“That’s Cheshire,” Aunt Mal introduced. “And Scorcher and Unicorn are around here somewhere too. You’ll find, my darlings, that we are the stereotype of ‘crazy old cat ladies’.” 

Emma giggled again but Belle still felt unsure. She had never met these aunts before, though their mother had talked of them often. She hid behind Emma, cuddling the kitten close to her heart. 

“Now why don’t you come inside?” Aunt Mal’s eyes gleamed and Aunt Tink clapped her hands in excitement. “I’m sure I know what we can do to occupy ourselves.”

****

It was hard not to feel peculiar in this new place—but it seemed that peculiarity was something the old house was accustomed to. Belle was not quite sure about Aunt Tink, who was flighty and eager to please or Aunt Mal, who was stern about her lightheartedness, and almost intimidating. But she liked having her own room, space to run, curious places to play with Emma, and the spare time to explore the house’s vast rooms and corridors. 

One sunny afternoon, while investigating the various scents of the garden, Emma noticed a few of the neighborhood children eyeing them through the fence. She skipped over, beaming.

“Hi, want to play?” She invited, hand on the gate to let them in. Belle swallowed, a cold feeling prickling her skin. 

“Witch!”

Belle gasped when the stone hit Emma directly in the forehead. Suddenly, everything blurred together, the children’s taunts, laughter, and she bent over her older sister, touching the blood gently. 

“Out!” Aunt Mal suddenly appeared, bellowing at the children frightfully. “Out, before I turn you all into Yaoguai!” The children scattered and without a word, Aunt Mal scooped Emma up and strode towards the greenhouse, where the table was laid out. Aunt Tink watched with a baleful gaze as Aunt Mal gently set Emma down, dabbing something on her cut. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Emma rubbed her eyes to keep from crying. Emma always hated tears, wouldn’t even let herself sob during their mother’s funeral. 

“Shhh,” Aunt Tink poured her a cup of tea, kissing her hair. “I know you didn’t, pet.” She glanced at Aunt Mal, who nodded back at her.

“You’ll find, my dears…that this island is not particularly friendly towards our family,” Aunt Mal said hesitantly, taking a seat at the head of the table. 

“Why not?” Belle burst out. “What did we do?” 

“Nothing, darling,” Aunt Tink placed two large brownies in front of the girls, with plentiful dollops of ice cream. 

“Tink is absolutely right,” Aunt Mal said firmly. “For more than two hundred years, we Owens women have been blamed for everything that has ever gone wrong in this town.” 

“Is that why people hate us?” Emma wanted to know, digging into her brownie. She’d already forgotten the cut above her eye but Belle couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from it.

“They don’t hate us, sweetheart,” Aunt Tink said gently. “We just—we make them a little nervous.” 

“Let’s face it, Tink,” Aunt Mal snorted. “We Owens women have always created a stir. My darlings, it’s time you knew something about your heritage. Our ancestor, Maria Owens—she was a witch. The first in our family. And you, my darlings, are the most recent in a long and distinguished line.” She smiled and  
Belle got goosebumps. Emma’s eyes widened.

It wasn’t to say the news was shocking—Belle had always known in her young heart that there was something different about her family. She remembered her honest surprise when she found out that not everyone’s mothers celebrated Yuletide rather than Christmas, or called Halloween Samhain. Not everyone kept a cauldron under their sink or a carefully concealed china cabinet which housed a bell, book, and candle. And certainly not everyone could make things happen or have visions and dreams. But it was almost a relief to know that it wasn’t just her odd immediate family—it was her whole family. 

“I remember Mommy talking about Maria,” Emma spoke up. “They tried to hang her. Because she was a witch?” 

“Well,” Aunt Mal smirked. “The fact that our Aunt Maria was a bit of a heartbreaker didn’t help. Nor did it help that most of her lovers had wives on the hanging committee.” She winked cheekily at Emma who giggled at such irreverence. 

“But no…” Aunt Mal continued thoughtfully, tapping a long finger against her chin. “I don’t think it was either of those reasons. They feared her because she had a gift. A power that has been past on to you girls. She had the gift of magic. And it was that very same gift that saved her life.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “That’s right! She jumped from the platform, broke her own noose and walked away!”

“Yes,” Aunt Mal’s eyes were sad. “And she was banished to this very island, with her unborn child growing in her belly. She waited for her lover to come rescue her…but he never came.” Belle’s eyes filled with tears. Somehow, it made her think of her mother. 

“In a moment of despair, she cast a spell upon herself that she would never again feel the agony of love,” Aunt Mal’s tone darkened and Belle shivered at the strange, almost ancient look in her gaze. “But as her bitterness grew, the spell became a curse. A curse on any man who dared love an Owens woman.” 

“Now, really,” Aunt Tink started to huff. 

“And that’s why our daddies died,” Emma said flatly. “Because of the curse.”

“Yes, my darling,” Aunt Mal said softly. “Your mother knew Emma’s father’s time was limited. She heard the beetle ticking for David’s death all day long. She knew that when you hear the sound of the death watch beetle, the man you love is doomed to die.” 

“But what about my father?” Belle spoke up as Emma’s brow furrowed. “He married our mommy. Did the curse get him too?”

The aunts glanced at each other. “Sometimes,” Aunt Tink said quietly. “Sometimes when our heart is breaking we throw ourselves into someone else’s embrace—because it’s easier than being alone.” 

“And sometimes,” Aunt Mal put in wryly. “We feel guilt for things that are out of our control.”

There was a long pause while the two girls ruminated on their words. Belle felt somewhat hollow. She remembered her father as a heavyset man, constantly complaining of the messiness of their house, a man who was warm to her, but rather cold to Emma. Their mother used to stare at him with listless eyes. Emma talked of her own father being handsome and charming, and Belle occasionally wished he’d been her father. That way, she might’ve had a chance at inheriting Emma’s golden curls. 

“Hey, my little witches,” Aunt Tink broke both girls out of their reveries. “Let’s go inside and cast some spells.” Both girls squealed with excitement, nightmares of love and broken hearts escaping their thoughts. 

**** 

“Belle! Belle!”

Belle woke up groggily to Emma shaking her awake. “Mm…what?” 

“Wake up, Belly-button!” Emma whispered urgently. “Someone’s here. The aunts are casting!”

Belle yawned. “So? We cast just a few hours ago. Emma, I’m sleepy…” She turned her head into her pillow, ready to float back into her dreams. They’d lit candles with their breath and Aunt Mal had walked them through a simple invocation in their book of shadows. 

‘Not like this,” Emma’s eyes were bright. “They’re casting a love spell.” 

Belle’s blood ran cold. Something about the way she said it made her hair stand on end. 

“I don’t want to see that,” She whispered urgently, burying her head under the blankets.

“Oh, don’t be a scaredy-cat,” Emma pulled the blankets off of her. “Don’t you want to see what it’s like? What love magic looks like?” 

The only thing Belle wanted to do was hide under her bed. But her older sister wouldn’t stand for that. Reluctantly, she took Emma’s hand and crept out of their room, slowly gliding down the steps, stopping short of the kitchen. 

There was no light in the kitchen, save a few silver candlesticks. Aunt Mal and Aunt Tink stood with a young woman who held a picture clasped to her chest. Aunt Mal was cooing at something in her hands, soothing it…Belle exhaled slowly, realizing a morning dove fluttered in her aunt’s fingers. 

“I want him to want me so much that he can’t stand it,” The woman hissed taking the crystal tipped needle from Aunt Tink’s fingers. Belle couldn’t resist a gasp, hiding her face in Emma’s knees when the woman stabbed the dove through the heart. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” Aunt Tink murmured and a dark smile spread across Aunt Mal’s face. Belle shivered in her sister’s arms.

****

“I thought you were sleepy,” Emma remarked wryly. “You should be in bed, Belly-button.” 

Belle paid no heed, gathering materials in the small tower greenery. “This is important,” She insisted. “This will keep me safe.”

“Safe from what?” Emma wanted to know, folding her arms in front of her chest.

“Safe from love,” Belle said firmly. “So no curse will ever kill me like it killed Mommy.” 

Emma blinked. Her expression softened and she went to Belle, hugging her. “Nothing’s going to kill you, silly girl. You just have to be strong. Mommy was beautiful and kind, but she wasn’t strong. You can wall it out. You can let nothing touch you.” 

“It will get you,” Belle insisted. “You heard the aunts. I have to protect myself, so I’m making a spell.” She went towards the balcony inhaling the scent of roses. She selected the reddest blooms, carefully clipping them and placing them into a small, slightly chipped teacup.

“He’ll hear my call from a mile away,” Belle’s young voice became dreamlike, as if she were singing. “He’ll drink my favorite kind of tea. He’ll come from a distant land, his words will be shaped from there. He’ll carry a silver-tipped cane—”

“Isn’t that Amas Veritas?” Emma interrupted. “That’s a true love summoning spell, Belly-button.” 

“I know,” Belle said absently. She walked and gently plucked a spring of lilacs. 

“He’ll be layered,” She murmured. “Just like love. He’ll love his family more than anything else. He’ll be marvelously kind but fearsome to his enemies—and his eyes will be the color of coffee. He won’t—he won’t fear my magic. His heart will be true. And he’ll…he’ll be able to spin!” 

Emma suppressed a smile at the queer spell. “I thought you didn’t want to fall in love.” 

“I don’t,” Belle said quietly, looking almost wistful. “The man I dreamed doesn’t exist. And if he doesn’t exist, I’ll be safe. I won’t die of a broken heart.” 

Emma’s gaze was sweetly sympathetic. They went to the balcony together, listening to the crickets sing and the night wind play with their nightgowns. Belle raised her chipped teacup and the wind carried the petals and blossoms away.


	2. The Sound of the Death-Watch Beetle

Belle's childhood was far from idyllic. But there were moments of joy. 

Her talents for magic grew each day, with Aunt Mal commenting she’d never seen such poise and capacity for knowledge. Belle devoured every book in their library, putting spells to memory with shocking speed and accuracy. She recited the histories of their ancestry, naming notable women and their accomplishments, using their knowledge and aspiration as her own path unto herself. She absorbed the world of witchcraft like a sponge, feeling as though she finally had a place in it.

Emma’s talents emerged in time as well. She did not have Belle’s thirst for knowledge or eidetic memory, but her instincts were sharp and natural. While Belle could cast one of the most complex spells from an ancient book with illegible writing, Emma could create spells on the fly, using her emotions and intuition as a guide. She cared little for the technicalities of magic or the poetry of the words, but her own natural style overflowed into a powerful sort of gift that she could command with less effort or mental power than Belle. The sisters’ talents were different but robust, and Tink and Mal were delighted. 

Tink attempted to be as good a mother as she knew how, baking sweets, never bothering to scold or punish. She loved snuggling with both girls, bringing them treats in bed, showering them both with kisses, telling them stories. She was affable and easy to get along with, though unfocused and flighty. She would begin her days with grand plans of baking soufflés, get halfway through the recipe, and suddenly decide her azaleas needed to be pruned and fertilized this instant. Near house fires were frequent and Belle and Emma often found themselves the ones to perform the day-to-day chores due to their aunt’s scattered personality—but neither of the girls minded. 

Mal was different, often hard to relate to. Whereas light and an almost mischievous innocence seemed to shine from Tink’s exuberance, Mal seemed a darker soul. Not an evil—a darkness that reminded the girls of summer midnights, of ancient tapestries, cold winter mornings before the sun. Mal was partial to Hecate while Tink preferred worshiping a myriad variant on her mood. Mal was also less certain on how to relate to the young girls, aside from watching them protectively and critically teaching them. Belle was frightened of her at first, but she soon became used to the scent of jasmine and spice that lingered in the air around her, the way her smiles were dark and crafty. Emma and Belle gave her a wide berth for a while, until their first thunderstorm. 

The girls hated thunderstorms. The night their mother had died had been a raucous, cruel thunderstorm with wicked lightning shattering the air. This night’s thunderstorm was nowhere near that storm’s intensity, nevertheless, both girls sprang from their bedtime snacks, running into the study. Aunt Mal, who’d been reading something of red leather with gilded edges, was surprised to find two shivering girls suddenly on her lap, their head buried into her shoulder. 

“Gracious,” She remarked drolly. “What’s all this about? A little thunderstorm?”

Belle sobbed and Emma held her tightly. “We—we don’t like them,” She said in a quavering voice.

“Don’t you know the best part of thunderstorms?” Aunt Mal wanted to know.

“When they’re over?” Emma suggested and Aunt Mal laughed. 

“No, silly things,” She awkwardly patted both of their backs, relaxing a bit at the softness of the girls’ hair. “It’s a time for my favorite type of magic—and a time to make thunder cake.” She hoisted both girls up, taking their hands and leading them into the kitchen. 

Belle cringed at the flash of lighting. “I hate it,” She sniffled and Aunt Mal’s hand tightened on hers.

“Don’t you worry,” She said firmly. “A little storm like this—I may just be able to banish it. I’ll see to it that nothing shall frighten my girls.” The firmness and outrage in her voice, that a little storm would dare offend her blood, warmed both Emma and Belle’s hearts. They spent the rest of the evening laughing in the kitchen, flinging cake batter at each other, learning the powerful properties of coriander and cinnamon, their hearts and heads so full, the storm was quickly forgotten.

It had seemed initially, after their fathers’ and mother’s death, that the only ones Belle and Emma could depend on were each other. But both girls came to learn that the aunts were on their side. The aunts, in their own peculiar way, loved them passionately, amidst the slander and gossip. The aunts weren’t afraid of their gifts and were happy to continue where their mother left off, teaching and helping their powers grow. 

Happiness, Belle thought, was possible here.

****

Twelve years later.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Oh, come on, Belle,” Emma huffed, dragging a large canvas bag to the balcony. “I can’t stand it any longer. The whispers, the rocks, the jokes—I gotta get out of here. Out of here to someplace where no one’s even heard of me.” 

Belle glanced at the night sky. It was a new moon, a time for new beginnings, but her stomach lurched at the idea that her older sister was leaving their home. 

“I feel like I'm never going to see you again,” Belle’s voice trembled and Emma stopped short.

“Oh, Belly-button,” Emma immediately wrapped her arms around her sister. “Of course you’re going to see me again! We’re gonna grow old together. We’re gonna be just like the aunts, living in this house, playing matchmaker on all the townspeople, two old biddies with all these cats. We’ll even die on the same day, in our sleep.” 

“Do you promise?” Belle asked seriously. Emma smiled, leaning down to retrieve her knife from her boot. 

“Look,” Emma said with a smile, drawing a quick cut down her hand. “My blood.” She took Belle’s hand and drew an identical red stripe down her palm. Belle gasped at the sharp pain.

“Your blood,” Emma clasped their hands together. “Our blood. We’re sisters. And we always will be.” Belle’s eyes filled with tears and she embraced her sister warmly. 

“I love you, M&M,” She whispered.

“I love you too, Belly-button,” Emma whispered back. “It’ll be all right. I promise.” She hoisted her canvas bag to her shoulder, and swung her leg over the balcony. She clambered down carefully, stumbling slightly when she hit solid ground. Belle attempted not to sob as she watched her sister disappear into the darkness. 

****

The house was lonelier with Emma gone. Aunt Tink cried for days when she learned that Emma had disappeared and Aunt Mal went silent. Belle had once thought about going to college, somewhere off the island—but she hated leaving her aunts alone. In any case, despite the cruelty she’d endured, she loved living on this island. She longed to be a part of the community here, if only she knew how. 

It was at Belle’s urging, that the aunts eventually accompanied her to do some basic restocking of their pantry as well as visit the post office. Belle had an idea in her head of sending Emma a care package, assuming her sister would stay in one place long enough to receive it. Nevertheless, despite Emma living her life like a Johnny Cash song, she sent postcards frequently. 

The day was overcast, making Belle wish she’d thought to grab her cardigan, and the aunts cheerfully chattered, smiling benignly at the terrified townspeople. 

“Emma’s in Tallahassee,” Belle sighed, handing over the postcard to Aunt Mal as they exited the post office. “Goddess, I miss her.”

“I know you do, sweetie,” Tink said comfortingly. “Emma’s a wanderer though, a gypsy. She’s happier traveling than being on this island.” 

“If she had a normal life, she wouldn’t want to leave so badly,” Belle argued. “If—if we were normal…”

“My darling girl, when are you going to learn that being normal is not necessarily a virtue?” Mal asked sharply. “It rather denotes a lack of courage.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

All three women stopped short. Belle blinked to see a curious-looking fellow grinning at them warmly. He wore a burgundy blazer and his hands never seemed to stop moving, whether it was shuffling a deck of cards or playing with a skinny tie. 

“You’re not from here,” Mal observed. “Who might you be?” 

“Correct,” He grinned, revealing deep dimples and Belle flushed. “My name is Jefferson. Jefferson Madden. I’m creating a coffee table book, taking pictures of odd houses and the like. This island is full of history.” 

He smiled warmly directly towards Belle and she blushed and stammered something. The two aunts glanced at each other. 

“I, um, we ought to be going,” Belle cleared her throat. “We’ve…a day planned. Lots of…gardening.” 

“I’ve heard you have a magnificent garden,” Jefferson remarked. “I’d love to take photos of it, add it to the spread.” 

“Well, of course,” Tink said brightly. “Why don’t you swing by tomorrow afternoon? I’m making fresh lemonade and really our blooms are magnificent this time of year. You ought to see Belle’s roses…” 

“Oh, yes,” Mal’s expression was a tad more critical, but nonetheless eager. “Drop by. Belle will be baking too, and you should really—”

“We have to go now,” Belle said firmly taking her aunts arms, her face flaming. “Goodbye!”

****

The aunts were behaving strangely. Belle was not blind to their machinations, and quite frankly, she intended on locking herself in her bedroom with an Austen novel until she was sure Mr. Madden was gone. She had no intention of being a part of their silly matchmaking scheme. 

Besides. Jefferson Madden, despite his seeming attraction to the obscure and uncommon—people feared her. They feared her gifts. He hadn’t been on the island long enough to hear the talk and whispers, to hear the legend of the Owens women, how they killed any man bewitched by their beauty. He may have enough of a quirky personality to like her now, but later on… 

“Belle, darling,” Mal called, opening the back door. “Won’t you come out into the garden with us for a spell?” Tink giggled madly and Belle rolled her eyes.

“No, aunts,” She said firmly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Just for a minute, Belle,” Mal requested. “No one knows the roses better than you, and Jefferson really ought to seem them in their glory.”

Belle sighed. “Fine. But I’m not staying here while you two make a fool of yourselves.” She walked into the garden right when the grandfather clock struck twelve. 

Jefferson turned towards her and smiled. She was suddenly overcome with a tidal wave of emotion, as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff and had jumped into cool, green waters. To her shock, Jefferson seemed strangely affected too, blinking in confusion, staring at her like he had never seen a woman before.

“He-hello,” Belle said shyly. 

Jefferson smiled again, taking her hands. Before she could think clearly, she was in his arms, and his kiss felt like nothing she’d ever felt before. In the background, she heard the aunts squealing. 

****

Dear Emma,

Today is our third anniversary. And all I have to show for it is two beautiful little girls and a husband I can’t stop kissing. Oh, M&M…I wish you were here. I wish you could see us. No more stones being thrown, no taunts cried out. I never imagined I could have a life so…normal. Though Jefferson loathes the word!

Grace has become obsessed with watercolors and paints. The walls of our house have become splotched with bright colors and weird designs, but I don’t have the heart to scold her. She’s just so excited about bringing pictures to life. Jefferson is enthusiastic too, mad artist that he is. And of course, Joy wants to do anything Grace wants to do, though she’s more apt to get paint all over her clothes than anything else. 

Our house is small, but we’re hoping to save up for a bigger one, as soon as our shop takes off. The advance from Jefferson’s latest book has really helped. As soon as we do, I’ll make sure there’s a guest room specifically for you, whenever you want to come over. 

I love you, my sister. Please visit soon.   
Love,   
Belle

Dear Belle,

I’m so glad to hear from you! 

L.A. is hot. Crowded. Too many people who act like they’re movie stars. But even so, I’ve made some friends. It’s nice being anonymous, you know? No one knowing of the curse, our family, our gifts. Just being another girl alone at the bar. I like it. I like it a lot. 

But you know, I’m not…necessarily alone. 

There’s a guy. I know, I’m sure the aunts have fallen off their chairs in excitement and I’m sure you let out a noise only audible to dogs, but…his name is Killian. Killian Jones. And he and I…I guess we’re sort of kindred spirits, you know? A lot in common. Not to mention, he’s sexy as hell. I’ve always been so comfortable on my own, it’s strange letting someone into my life—and even stranger that someone wants to be in my life…but I can’t help it. 

Killian Jones. Who’d have thought?

I love you too, Belly-button.

All my love,  
Emma

****

Belle awoke to an unfamiliar sound that made her stomach lurch in anxiety. She frowned at first, taking in her surroundings. It was the middle of the night. Joy had somehow conned her way into their bed, Jefferson was snoring softly, and there seemed to be relative peace. She listened to the sound of her husband and daughter’s breathing, trying to calm her anxious heart.

She heard it again. A clicking or chirping, almost like a cicada—but darker. 

For when you hear the sound of the death-watch beetle, the man you love is doomed to die.

The morning came normally, with Belle rushing about the kitchen to prepare everyone breakfast, Jefferson giving them all a kiss goodbye, as he wanted to get some decent photos of the bicycle race today. Belle’s feeling of disquiet only increased as the morning passed—no matter what she did, she was completely unable to escape the beetle’s ticks. 

Belle was no longer able to pretend that it was her imagination. 

Desperately, she began to search for the source of the chirp. She swore she saw a black beetle slip between the floorboards, and like a maniac, she grabbed a fireplace poker and started to tear the boards apart.

Not again, she thought desperately. Not like Mom…no, don’t do this, Goddess, no!

In her mind’s eye, she pictured Jefferson, walking down the street, his camera in his arms, whistling off-key. Her feelings of dread intensified and she suddenly felt faint.

He was greeting everyone so cheerfully, they smiled at him so tolerantly, that odd Jefferson Madden, who’d chosen to marry an Owens woman, despite his better judgment. A black dog barked at him in warning and Jefferson shushed him, never breaking his stride as he started to cross the street. 

“No, please!” Belle cried, digging her fingers into the earth beneath the floorboards. “Please, no! Don’t! Please!”

“Jefferson, look out!” 

Belle watched, trapped within the walls of her mind’s eye, as a truck came out of nowhere, hitting her husband. She watched his camera fall upon the pavement, shattering the lens. She screamed, her voice full of her husband’s pain and her own personal agony. She could only see blood, darkness, and tears before her world wend dark.


	3. Chapter 3

“It was the curse, wasn’t it?! He died because I loved him so much!”

Belle raced through the house like a madwoman, searching for Tink and Mal. The house was silent and somber, as if expressing grave condolences, but Belle was through. 

“Answer me!” She screamed, reaching the kitchen.

“Oh, my poor darling girl…” A voice said sorrowfully. Belle whipped around to see Aunt Tink gazing at her from the doorway.

Aunt Mal appeared on the stairwell, clearing her throat. “We had no idea,” She stated. “When we cast the spell—”

“What spell? What are you talking about?” Belle demanded. She felt as though her heart were shattering into a million pieces, as if she was falling in some sort of chasm while her aunts merely watched. They glanced at each other, regret and shame in their countenance, and Belle understood.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Belle whispered. “Please tell me that my own flesh and blood wouldn’t cast on me!” 

“It was just a little push,” Tink said softly. “You wanted so much to be happy.”

“We never expected that you’d truly love him,” Mal twisted a black handkerchief in her hands, looking distressed. A swelling feeling of rage came over Belle, for her aunts daring to play with fire. 

“Well, I did!” Belle went to the kitchen shelves, snatching their book of shadows. “And I want him back. You brought him into my life, you bring him back.”

Fear flooded Tink’s expression and Mal shook her head. “No, Belle. No, dear. You don’t do that. We don’t do that.”

“You can,” Belle said determinedly, flipping through the pages. “I know you can. I remember. I found the spell when Mommy died, when we first came here, I looked it up—” 

“Belle,” Mal crossed the room to stop Belle’s progress. “Even if we did bring him back, it wouldn’t be Jefferson. It’d be something else. Something dark and unnatural.” 

“I don’t care what he comes back as,” Belle flung her hands off. “As long as he comes back! Please! I’ll do anything! Please bring him back!” Her knees gave way and she was on the ground. She could hear herself begging, but it felt like she was falling apart. 

The aunts remained silent. 

****

Things changed all at once. 

Belle sold their house. She intended on moving her broken family into an apartment nearby, but found that the landlord had abruptly changed his mind on leasing the room out. The entire town was whispering about her and she was unable to find a new place to live. Her only other option was returning to their old house, a place so saturated with memories, it made Belle sick. She could not sleep in an empty bed, not without Jefferson. 

It was with a heavy heart that she returned to the aunts’ house, her daughters in tow. Grace and Joy had expressed little to no emotion at the fact they were moving into the three-story Victorian house on the edge of town. Since their father had died, the children had remained huddled together, holding each others’ hands for comfort, barely talking. 

“This is temporary,” Belle’s voice was hoarse as she dragged her suitcase in. “Don’t expect us here forever. And as for you two,” She jerked her head towards the aunts. “My daughters will never do magic. Ever.” 

Tink and Mal exchanged horrified expressions, but Belle didn’t care. Magic had been the source of so much evil in her life, she would no longer entertain it. She walked up the steps to her old attic bedroom, and collapsed into the sheets. 

Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and Belle could not seem to muster the energy to get out of bed. Her aunts brought her food, her daughters visited her daily, but it seemed as though the old Belle—the Belle with life in her soul and love in her heart—had died along with Jefferson. Twisted in the sheets, she cried for her husband, cried for her fatherless daughters, cried for herself because she was alone and miserable. 

“Emma…”

****

Emma dreamed of her sister for days. She knew what had happened when it happened—she’d gotten violently sick at a party, hit with the images and emotions of her sister’s despair. Emma would have rushed to Belle’s side immediately, but she’d been so fragile, like spun glass, and shattered at the softest touch. 

She should’ve at least been nearby. For when Belle needed her. Now she was hundreds of miles away, out of reach, out of touch. She sighed on her bed, wondering what to do.

“Hm,” Killian sauntered into their bedroom, kissing her. “Was just thinking of you, love.” 

“You’re always thinking of me,” Emma retorted saucily, returning his kiss. He brought her a bottle of rum and Emma took a long swig. 

“I was thinking,” She started to say. “Of going back to the island. Just for a little while.”

Killian pulled a face. “I don’t think so.” 

“What’s the problem?” Emma demanded. “It’s just for a few days. Belle’s in really bad shape, she just lost her husband. I mean, fuck, I wasn’t even there for her wedding, wasn’t there for her kids’ birth…I need to be there now, when she really and truly needs me.” 

“Well, I need you with me,” Killian said stubbornly. “We’re in love. We shouldn’t be apart, love.” His tone was light, but his eyes glittered menacingly.

Emma sighed. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. We’ll discuss this later.” She clambered out of their bed, leaving him with a kiss as she lazily wrapped her hands around the bottle of rum on their nightstand. Once the bathroom door was locked, she carefully uncorked a small capsule of herbs and took a pinch out. She sprinkled it into the bottle, smiling in satisfaction as she mentally stirred the rum. 

****

Belle awoke to the sensation of someone drawing a finger down her nose. She opened her eyes blearily to see soft, blue-gray eyes filled with sympathy and love staring back at her. 

“Hey, Belly-button,” Emma said softly. “How’s my baby sister?”

Belle took a deep breath. “I…I was so happy, Emma…” Her voice broke and she sobbed into her pillow. Emma wrapped her arms around her, kissing her hair, whispering nothings. 

“It’s all right, Belly-button,” Emma crooned. “I’m right here. It’s going to be okay.” 

“It’s not, it’s not,” Belle wept, and Emma ran her fingers through her hair comfortingly. “The curse, Emma…I didn’t listen to Aunt Mal. I just pretended to be normal, I just…I—I wish I’d never met him.” 

“Belle,” Emma murmured. “That’s not true.” 

“No, it’s not,” Belle hiccupped. “But…I’m beginning to understand our mother. Her desperation. Why she married my father after David died.” 

“Heartbreak can bring the strongest to their knees,” Emma said softly. “You have to stay strong.” 

“It’s just…we had such a good life,” Belle whispered. “We were going to open a shop together. A quirky little bookshop, with a teashop, that sold…stuff from books. Jane Austen cameos, Shakespeare quills, Cat in the Hat hats, all sorts of nonsense…it was all Jefferson’s idea. His dream. But—we shared it. Together.”

“I know honey,” Emma whispered back. “I know. This was a horrible tragedy. It shouldn’t have happened, darling.”

“What…what am I going to do without him?” Belle sobbed again and Emma wrapped herself around her sister, her own tears joining Belle’s.

****

They spent the entire night talking. Emma never moved from her place on Belle’s bed, with the exception of lighting a fire in the fireplace and disappearing downstairs to bring up herbal tea. Belle told her of how the aunts had orchestrated her relationship with Jefferson, but how it had an element of truth within it, that it had somehow become organic and real. Belle showed her pictures of her daughters, described how Jefferson had cried when their first daughter was born and laughed when their second came into the world. He was a man of infinite emotions, all that showed on his face at any given time. 

Emma listened, saying nothing, only smiling at Belle’s anecdotes, laughing when Belle told her of how he’d once nearly burned the kitchen down in an attempt to make her an extravagant birthday cake. 

“I’m sure this is all boring to you,” Belle sighed. “But he always knew how to make me and the girls laugh.” 

“It’s not boring, Belle,” Emma smiled. “I’d like something like that. Someday. If I can ever stop running.” 

“Well, what about you?” Belle questioned. “I’m tired of talking. Who is this Killian Jones I’ve heard so much about?” 

“Argh,” Emma closed her eyes, stretching across the bed. “Just a guy, I guess. Guy I’ve been living with for a while.” 

“How long?”

“Around a year or so.” 

Belle’s eyes grew large. “That’s…unlike you.”

Emma’s smile was small and shy. “Yeah, I know. He’s…different. He and I, I feel like we have a connection. Like we’re kindred spirits. The chemistry and passion is almost intoxicating, it overwhelms everything else. And he’s just so intense—I mean, he talks about our relationship in terms of centuries. Like we’re going to be together eternally, like we’ll be the new Adam and Eve when the rest of the world goes to hell.”

She exhaled slowly. “And man, is he ever…vigorous. Thank God for Aunt Mal’s belladonna, or I’d never get any sleep.” 

Belle’s brow furrowed. “Why are you taking that stuff?”

“I’m not taking it, I’m just giving it to him every once in a while,” Emma yawned easily. 

“You’re drugging your boyfriend to get a little sleep?” Belle asked skeptically. “That doesn’t seem a little off to you?”

“Says the woman whose husband accidentally drugged you when he mixed up one of Aunt Mal’s special blends with tea leaves,” Emma retorted.

“That wasn’t Jefferson’s fault, you know the aunts’ never mark their vials,” Belle shoved a pillow into Emma’s face. “That was a long time ago, anyway.” Her expression became somber as she remembered. She’d woken up with a headache, a terrified husband, and two gleeful aunts who’d convinced him not to call an ambulance. It was funny, thinking about it now, and even Jefferson made it one of his most frequent anecdotes. 

“You thinking of him, Belly-button?” Emma asked softly, tracing a finger down her sister’s nose.

“Yeah,” Belle replied, closing her eyes. “And our mother. I never thought I could forgive her—dying of heartbreak seems incredibly selfish when you’re seven—but I’m beginning to.” 

Emma smiled at her. “Now you need to forgive yourself,” She said gently. “People have told us who we were our whole lives. It’s time to take a stand and push back. You got those little girls, honey, and they need their mommy right now. Don’t let them grow up like we did.” 

Grace. Joy. The names were like beacons in the fog and Belle swallowed hard. She’d been a poor excuse for a mother these past weeks, barely acknowledging their existence. Grace had attempted to visit her several times in her bedroom, requesting her presence for dinner or breakfast, even making her tea with far too much sugar. Belle couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Joy. 

“You’re right,” Belle closed her eyes. “I can’t do what Mom did. I can’t just give up. I have to be there for them. God, what have I been doing? They probably think I’ve abandoned them.”

“Aw, Belle,” Emma kissed her sister’s cheek. “They lost their daddy too, you know. They needed their own time to grieve. But they’re waiting for you.” 

Belle nodded, her eyelids flickering. Her last image of Emma was her warm smile before she slipped into a deep slumber. 

When Belle awoke, Emma was gone.

****

For the first time in a long time, Belle rose from her bed, dressed herself, and attempted battle with her matted curls. She came down the steps to the smell of French toast and coffee and inhaled the scent deeply. She heard her daughters giggling and Aunt Mal saying something wryly to Aunt Tink. The house was full of life and Belle felt as though she was Orpheus, reentering the mortal world without her beloved. 

“Good…good morning,” Belle said quietly, entering the dining room. 

Grace sprang up. “Mommy!” Her voice was pure delight. “Oh, Mommy, I’m so glad you’re up!” She knocked over her chair in her haste, throwing her arms around Belle’s waist. Belle’s eyes filled with tears at the warmth of her daughter’s embrace, and she lightly stroked Grace’s brown sugar hair. 

Joy did not move from her place. Her youngest stared at Belle, remaining motionless, save for the slight scrape of her fork against her plate. There was hurt and betrayal in the little girl’s eyes, and Belle was overcome with remorse. 

“Hi, baby girl,” Belle said softly. Grace took Belle’s hand, leading her to Joy. Joy stared resolutely at her plate. 

“Joy, honey,” Belle knelt down next to her. “Joy, I’m back. And I’m not going anywhere ever again. Okay?” 

Joy peeked up at her from underneath her eyelashes. She did not seem convinced, but her face softened when Belle hugged her. 

****

Belle knew the only way to overcome her grief was to keep moving. Her husband’s life insurance money, as well as their sold house, gave her enough money to open the bookshop to the public. She’d not had many customers from the village, but she’d had a great deal of luck with customers online, who were less shy about buying the rare and obscure novels, as well as the peculiar. Her shop had a rustic feel to it, as well as an eccentricity Jefferson would have loved. There were mismatched teacups, murals of lesser known novels on the wall, none of the furniture matched, and Belle rarely dusted her older books, feeling the musky smell added to the quality. 

Grace and Joy loved the shop. They helped her after school, cheerfully stocking the bookshelves and charming the customers, a skill Belle had lost since Jefferson’s death. Most of the townspeople did not want anything to do with her. Still, her shop was a new curiosity in a town of stagnation, so business eventually picked up. 

The whispers and taunts, however did not. One afternoon, Grace came home in tears, her knees scraped up and her hair tangled.

“What on earth happened?” Belle asked in alarm, coming from around the counter to examine her daughter’s wounds. Joy stared mutinously. 

“Tyler Norman called her a witch and threw rocks,” Joy reported. “And Grace said she hoped he got the chicken pox.” She thrust forward her pointed finger in demonstration. 

“What?” Belle gasped. “Grace, you cast? How could you?” 

Grace’s eyes filled with renewed tears. “Why are you taking his side?”

“I’m not taking his side, but Grace, we do not toy with people’s lives and we do not cast! Do you understand? This is not a game!” Fear crept into Belle’s heart as she clasped her daughter’s shoulders. It shouldn’t have surprised her that her aunts had disobeyed her express orders and had begun to teach the girls, but it terrified her that magic was invading their lives once more. 

“You don’t understand!” Joy shouted at her, stepping in front of her older sister. “And you don’t cast, not us! And you probably couldn’t if you tried!” The rage and betrayal in Joy’s bright blue eyes staggered Belle for a moment, and she was struck by how much her youngest looked like her. 

“Joy, no,” Grace sniffled, taking her sister’s hand. “Come on.” She led her sister away to the back of the shop and Belle watched Grace chastise Joy for her callousness. 

“You really hurt Mommy’s feelings,” She heard Grace say. “You need to be nicer.” 

Belle’s heart sank, remembering a little blonde girl scolding another little girl with chestnut curls and bright blue eyes. “You need to be nicer, Belly-button…Mommy is very sad right now…”

****

It was a cool evening for spring, but Belle’s room was stifling. She’d opened up her window to let in the night breeze as she wrote a letter to Emma. 

Dearest Emma,

Sometimes I feel there’s a hole inside me. An emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight…there’s a circle around it, a sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night wanting. But still, sometimes when the wind is warm and the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen…I don’t know, maybe I’ve had my happiness. I don’t want to believe it, but there is no man, Emma. Only that moon.

Love always,

Belle

As soon as she slipped the letter into her mailbox and heard the phone ring, she knew it was Emma, and she knew something was wrong.


	4. Something Dark and Unnatural

Belle snatched the phone off the receiver.  “Emma, are you all right?” 

There was a long pause on the other line.  Ice coursed through Belle’s veins and the heaviness on her mind worsened. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Emma finally said, coughing a little at the end of her statement. “Hey, do you mind if I crash at the aunts’ house for a few days? I’m cool with sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you mean?” Belle wanted to know. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Emma denied. “Killian was kind of a dick about me leaving to see you, that’s all. Got a little mad. It’s no big deal.”

“Did he kick you out?”

Emma laughed harshly.  “More like kicked the shit out of me. Look, I’m taking the next flight out to the island—” 

“Emma,” Belle said urgently. “Just stay where you are. Tell me the name of the hotel, and I’ll come pick you up. Okay?” 

“Yeah, that might be better, I kinda stole his car,” Belle heard Emma sigh. “But seriously, Belle, I’m fine. Just a couple of bruises, a black eye, it’s not a big deal. Hell, I’ve gotten more knocked around on a weekend bender in Tallahassee—”

“Emma,” Belle’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m coming to get you, okay? Just stay there.”

****

The aunts had sensed something was very wrong, so they had heeded Belle’s request to watch Grace and Joy for the time being.  There was a harvest festival that Tink and Mal were orchestrating and although Belle couldn’t  _quite_  get the aunts to promise not to let her daughters dance naked under the full moon, at least she could be certain they would be well looked after.  Not to mention, the house would be empty, and Belle had an uneasy feeling that she would need an empty house. 

Belle took the redeye to the mainland and found her sister huddled in a cheap motel room near the airport.  Her heart lurched when she saw the purplish blue bruises rimming Emma’s right eye. 

“Oh, Emma,” Belle’s voice broke as she leaned towards her.

“It’s really not as bad as it looks,” Emma insisted. “He doesn’t even know how to throw a proper punch.”

“Come on,” Belle helped her stand. “We’re getting you out of here. Let’s go.”             

****

“Blood on the moon,” Emma muttered, glancing up at the sky. “Blood on the moon…”

“I know,” Belle tried to ignore the omen.  Red clouds barely grazed the full moon, a sign of danger.  A sign of violence.  A sign of death. 

“Hang on,” Emma’s hands went to her neck. “Shit—my swan necklace! I have to get my swan necklace!”

“Emma, just leave it, there isn’t time!” Belle snapped but Emma had already started towards Killian’s car. 

“I have to have it,” Emma called back. “It’s good luck! A guy at a bar bought it for me one night, years ago, and—” Her voice was cut short. 

Something icy clutched at Belle’s heart.  She walked over towards the car, where Emma was standing frozen.  “Emma, it’s probably in your bag—”

Killian Jones was sitting in the backseat, a gun pointed at Emma’s chest. 

“Evening, darling,” He said cheerily. “You don’t mind driving, do you?”

****

The car was silent as Belle accelerated onto the highway, thinking frantically.  She saw Killian take a luxurious swig of rum and swallowed when she saw Emma.  Emma had attempted to fight when he forced them both into the car, never mind the gun, and he’d struck her with the butt of the gun in retaliation and tied her hands together. 

_He’s going to kill us_.  She knew this with unbending certainty.  As soon as his game was through, he would kill them. 

“Want a drink?” Killian offered the bottle to Belle and Belle ignored it, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel.  Killian smirked, relaxing against Emma.

“So this is your sister, Emma,” Killian purred against Emma’s cheek. “You didn’t tell me your baby sister was so beautiful. Are your nieces as pretty? I’ll bet your whole family is nothing but beautiful women.” 

Belle felt nauseous, glancing in the rearview mirror.  Her eyes widened when she saw Emma’s reflection nod at her. 

“ _The belladonna, in my bag at your feet,_ ” Emma’s reflection said softly.  Belle swallowed hard, her hand slipping into Emma’s purse, curling around a small glass vial. 

“Maybe we should go to your house first, I can see for myself,” Killian suggested. 

“Fuck off, Killian,” Emma spat.  At that, Killian hit her again, and when Belle saw the blood on her sister’s lip, she lost it.

“Watch the road, watch the road!” Killian snarled as Belle jerked into oncoming traffic.

“ _I will plow you into a semi, if you touch her again_!” Belle screamed. “Give me the bottle! Right now!” 

“All right, all right,” Killian soothed as she snatched the bottle of rum from him, taking a hard gulp of it.  It burned her throat satisfactorily, emboldening her nerve. 

“That’s right,” Killian watched her. “You drink all you want, love. I’ve got some lovely plans for this evening and this ought to calm your nerves.”  He laughed in spite of himself.  Belle didn’t even breathe as she unscrewed the glass vial of belladonna with one hand and dumped the entire capsule into the rum.  She pretended to take one more sip before handing it back to Killian.

****

“You didn’t give him enough,” Emma said wearily, watching Killian simultaneously piss into a bush and twirl the car keys in one hand. 

"I gave him plenty,” Belle said through gritted teeth. 

“He should have passed out by now,” Emma ran her fingers through her hair. “Can you undo the knots on this? Maybe we can tackle him—”

“He still has the gun,” Belle argued. “He tucked it into his pants—”

“But if we distracted him—” Emma shut her mouth as Killian zipped up his jeans and lumbered towards them. 

_He’s going to kill us_.  The thought rang in Belle’s mind even more insistently and she saw the expression on Killian’s face shift from drunken slovenly to cold calculation.   _He’s going to kill us._  

“Shit,” Emma mumbled and Belle realized she heard the same thing. “Let’s go!”  Emma kicked the door open and scrambled out, making a break for it. 

“Emma!” Belle screamed, running out of the car after her.  There was a blur of motion and suddenly she’d fallen to the ground, and she could see Killian on top of Emma, strangling her. 

“ _No_!” Belle tackled Killian, trying to pull him off of Emma, frantically punching and hitting as hard as she could.

Suddenly, Killian’s head collapsed against Emma’s chest.

“Belle!” Emma gasped for breath, coughing. “H-he’s out. I think he’s out.”  She rolled Killian off of her and Belle gasped.

_“I think he’s dead_!”

****

Both women stared at Killian’s lifeless body.  Belle’s hand covered her mouth and Emma nudged his shoulder with her toe. 

“Fuck,” Emma said finally. 

Belle snapped to attention.  “Help me get him in the backseat,” She ordered, taking hold of his shoulders.  Emma followed suit and they shoved him into the car. 

“We’ll have to go to the police,” Belle said, rounding the car to the front seat. “It was self-defense.”

“Don’t be stupid, Belle,” Emma snapped, slamming the car door shut. “The old ‘poison him to death’ defense?” 

“Do you have a better idea?” Belle demanded, starting the engine. “What do you propose we do with him?”

“I don’t know, okay?” Emma shouted.  The two women fell silent as Belle tried to think.  Emma pulled out a cigarette and lit up. 

“I don’t want to lose my children,” Belle’s voice broke.  Emma glanced at her, inhaling the nicotine deeply. 

“I know,” She said softly. “I don’t want you to either.”  She puffed on her cigarette thoughtfully while Belle wiped her eyes hurriedly.  There would be no hope for them.  No one in town would believe they were innocent—another man dead by the Owens’ women’s hand.  Grace and Joy would grow up like they did, alone and unwanted.

“When Jefferson died,” Emma broke her reverie. “You went to the aunts. You asked them to bring him back.” 

Belle glanced at her warily.  “Yes…but I didn’t know what I was asking. And they wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t—but not couldn’t,” Emma leaned towards her eagerly. 

“Emma, no,” Belle said firmly. “They were right. They said he would come back as—as something dark and unnatural and—”

“Where the hell have you been? Killian already is dark and unnatural! I don’t care what he comes back as, as long as he comes back with a pulse!” Emma shouted. 

“We have no idea what will happen!” Belle snarled at her sister. “You do not play with this kind of magic, Emma!”

“From what I hear, you don’t play with  _any_  kind of magic!” Emma snapped back. “The worst thing that could happen is he comes back as some possessed dark creature—we lock him up,  _then_  we call the police, let them deal with it! But I can’t do it alone!”

****

Belle could not see a way out. 

They took the midnight ferry back to the island, never once leaving the car.  The sleepy security guard barely glanced at them and as soon as they reached dry land, they hurtled towards their house.

They cleared the kitchen table, dragging Killian’s lifeless body on top, scattering dishes everywhere.  Belle took a deep breath, taking the book of shadows off the kitchen shelf. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Belle asked.  Emma nodded, scowling at Killian’s corpse. 

“All right,” Belle cleared her throat. “Get the candles. We’ll need some sage, the bell—you go ahead and cast a circle, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

They worked quickly and Belle thanked the powers that the moon was full, which meant a clear pathway to the spirit world.  Emma lit the candles, not even bothering with matches, just waving her fingers impatiently.  They burned sage to clear the energies of the room, a bit ironic considering what they were summoning.

Belle cleared her throat.  “Lips pursed, emit wind over tongue in motion, teeth on edge,” She obediently rolled her tongue, letting her breath exhale rapidly.  Emma attempted to follow suit. 

“Touch bounded smudge of blue sage with braided wheat straw,” Belle smudged the corpse with the sage. “Insert needles through eyes of corpse.” 

Emma wrinkled.  “Ew!” 

“You’re complaining  _now_?” Belle demanded. “We have a dead body on our dining room table!”

“Okay, all right, fine!” Emma threw up her hands. “Here—you wanted something white for the pentagram…” She handed Belle a can of whipped cream.

“Whipped cream?” Belle said wryly. 

“We’re out of paint, just make the pentagram!” Emma snapped.  Belle rolled her eyes and shook the canister, carefully drawing a whipped cream pentagram on Killian’s bare chest. 

“Now,” Belle inhaled. “We say… _black as night, erase death from our sight. White as light, mighty Hectate make it right_.”

“Hectate?” Emma asked nervously.  Hectate was unpredictable, a goddess of magic, but a goddess of crossroads as well. 

Belle nodded.  Emma sighed and joined the chant.  “ _Black as night, erase death from our sight. White as light, mighty Hectate make it right.”_

Their chants resumed, overlapping each other, the room suddenly filling with magic.  They held the needles poised over Killian’s eyes, and Belle felt the power flow through them both. 

_It’s always more powerful with women._   She thought.   _The nature of magic.  The nature of sisters.  It has always been this way, a force that cannot be contained…_

Emma gasped and Belle stopped her chanting.  Killian’s eyes had opened. 

“We did it,” Emma breathed. “We actually did it.” 

“Killian?” Belle asked cautiously.  His eyes were clouded over, as if he were blind. 

Suddenly, Killian arose, his hands wrapping around Emma’s neck.  “ _You killed me, you little bitch?_ ” He bellowed at her, squeezing. “ _Where’s your good form, Emma? Where’s your good form_?”

Emma choked, her face turning blue.  Belle snatched one of the heavy silver candlesticks from the table and clobbered him with it—his grip on Emma’s throat slackened and he fell to the floor once more.

Without a word, both women snatched the corpse up and dragged him outside to the rose garden.  It began to pour buckets of rain upon them both as they dug up the fresh dirt. 

The grave was shallow, but it would do for their purposes.  It might have even been a temporary solution to the problem but that that point neither Emma nor Belle cared.  They rolled the body into the pit, replaced the dirt, and packed it tightly with their feet.  Belle thanked the goddess for the rain and second guessed her prayer, wondering if perhaps Hectate was laughing at them. 

“Belle,” Emma cleared her throat, walking towards her. “I know this is going to sound kinda stupid, given how this night’s gone, but…thank you.” 

Belle nodded, giving her a half-hearted hug.  “We’ll just put this behind us, all right? The aunts will be home tomorrow, so will my girls, and…and we’ll just go back to our normal lives. No one has to know.” 

Emma smiled thinly.  “That’s right.”  She took her sister’s hand and they walked towards the house.  Lightning flashed, but the rain stopped completely.


End file.
